bravery

What I Said

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I’d be more than enough if I quietly painted and gave myself over to small and large pieces or thick papers that I stacked high or hung in the corner of one wall.

And I left them there, to be seen

or not.

I’d be more than enough in the eyes of God and I believe, the eyes of others, too.

I’d be more than enough if not a single soul read the words I pencil or peck out.

More than enough if later, a long time away maybe, my children and grandchildren got a glimpse of my faith and my falters and remembered me well.

I’d be more than enough, more than I can know, if they found their names written next to a little dot and they knew that God knew and that I knew too.

Because I’ve found my name in my grandmother’s Bible, faded black underlines and a delicate cursive “Lisa” in the margin.

It was something to see, significant.

I’m all out of sorts with the attention that comes with the calling, the calling to write, the calling to create.

What a fine line it is, thin and fine, between expression and validation.

Too much, Lisa.

Too much Lisa.

This morning, I’ve read a blog post from a writer who wrote about grace, her focus for “31 Days”.

Her disappointment over not being chosen yet again, her submission denied.

I commented “same here, I understand, show yourself some grace, I’ll take a little too”.

Then, remembered what I’d said when I’d been informed of my own no.

It was a clear declaration, a mindset proclaiming acceptance, it was all the right words.

“Yes, Lord. I see this no is your no and I see that you see me not writing devotions; but, the book.”

I was confident in my making the no a yes. Everyone agreed, oh my, what a way to make a no a yes!

Oh, yes.

No.

Then that sneaky feeling came back… the fat girl in the weird clothes whose name was last to be called in the “Red Rover, red rover, send…right over” or the one sitting up proper amongst the pretty and proper dying inside over “How soon can I leave this room, how much longer must I be on display?”

I went back to my default of quiet girl unnoticed, safe, no fear of not being chosen.

It was familiar.

But, somehow foreign.

So, I asked God the other morning in the shower,

I prayed. It was different, not different because of where I was, shower prayers are my daily, maybe odd to some thing.

Different, because it was certain and for sure feeling.

“Lord, what will you think if I just don’t write anymore, if I don’t finish what you told me start?”

I waited, the question was free flowing, like asking a friend “What do ya’ think? ” easy to ask and open for their reply.

I waited, knees resting.

Then this thought, an answer to my prayer question.

“Wouldn’t it be okay if I just keep it to myself, and you, God…pages and pages of the heart you know?”

I waited, relieved to no longer be toting ’round the worry over my worth based on my words.

But, He answered.

I saw myself there at the end of my days resting close by the one who knew me best.

He answered, it was a gentle and kind reply.

Lisa, I know you wanted to

and I

wish you

had.

I wish you had

trusted me more.

This morning, I’m reading about grace towards ourselves and I’ve pencilled in my daily prayer of Jabez in a new way, like a conversation, God’s replies added.

Oh that you would bless me indeed. (I have.)

Enlarge my territory (I have; but, you still long to hide away.)

That your hand would be with me.(Always, it is.)

So that I would not be in pain.

(It is not of my making, any pain that you are feeling. I have and will grant your request.) I Chronicles 4:10

I walk out into the damp grass before work, a mindless morning thing, remembering the Winter day we brought the Labrador home.

It was work. I kept at it. More effort and angst than I could have imagined. The morning thing, routine, schedule, energy let loose…toss a ball, say “good boy” , again again.

Some mornings I rushed. In a hurry, but determined, days that were hard, cold, icy, some humid and mosquitoes unrelenting. Others, I cherish, the geese flew over, a cardinal flitted by, the sky was wide and blue and the rhythm of our play, it was enough.

His retrieval, his reply.

He lumbered up next to my side this morning, now two years with us. My mind miles away and he’d finished his rounds along the fence line.

I looked down and met his eyes.

“Where’s your tennis ball?” I asked, just like the way I used to say “Where’s your paci or your blanket, your glove?”.

“Go find your tennis ball.” I told him.

Then, I waited.

He came back, the dirty and matted old ball sideways, hanging tight in his mouth.

“Good boy!” I said, threw the ball a long ways and he ran towards it again.

Again.

I’m thinking about trust, how it is not struggle, about how I make it hard work, make it hard, make it too much me, make it vain. Decide it’s never enough, my trust.

I toss again. Again.

Still thinking of settling here, this morning thing, this scribbling down of prayers, rambling and random thoughts expression of art, or word.

Enough.

And yet, fascinated by what might come with trust.

I’ve opened my Bible now and it falls open to the pages marked with crimson petals,

Find wisdom. Find reply.

“Then I observed that most people are motivated to success because they envy their neighbors. But this, too, is meaningless—like chasing the wind. “Fools fold their idle hands, leading them to ruin.” And yet, “Better to have one handful with quietness than two handfuls with hard work and chasing the wind.””

‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭4:4-6‬ ‭NLT‬‬

So I’ll not sit idle, hands folded in my lap. I’ll be content with the one handful, not chasing after what might be in the hands of another.

I’ve gotten quiet today thinking about the contrast between strife and restful trust, motivation and following God’s lead to

go and find what is mine to catch and bring back.

Out of the blue, I hear from one of my “colors”.

Instead of saying, love you, how are you?, yes I’m still writing or hope to see you soon…

I say, “I’m ready to finish your chapter, up for a visit?”

“Yes”, she said.

And I have lyrics again, lyrics that come to mind.

“Only trust Him…

Only trust Him more.”

Linking up with others at Jennifer Dukes Lee. Click here to read and then share your love, your thoughts, your wisdom and words today with everyone around you!

Jennifer’s story of a man named Charlie, I’ve read again this morning as it’s the 19th year since my daddy died. His name was Charlie Ruel. He fought in the Korean War. He was a good looking man, sharp dressed, lover of the sound of a steel guitar and of my mama. He was a quiet man, not at jovial. When he spoke, he made sure his words were necessary, were beneficial. Tonight, I’ll go to Bible study. We’ve been discussing heaven and I pray I somehow hear from him, my daddy, Mr. Charlie Ruel Hendrix, the baby of his family.

Read here about Jennifer’s Charlie.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/dont-wait-tomorrow-say-needs-said-today/

My Soul, the Same

bravery, Faith, grace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Groggy because of the rain barely falling and the ceiling fan’s dull wobbly sound. It is rhythmic, the way I’m drawn to notice.

I’d nap if there were time or if my mind could remember the way back to settled. I’ve lost the gift of napping and I’ve no idea why except there always seems to be something else I need to know, new words, the expressions of them. I’m introspective unable to stop soaking in, seeking the more to know.

My loyalty is to the inner vision, whenever and howsoever it may arrive.

Mary Oliver

A poet’s book of essays on my lap and

the kind words of the morning still close.

Someone said they’d heard a soul described as clear as glass.

My day started this way, a message, a kind word.

I heard a reference in the story that instantly reminded me of the path you are on. It is when Joshua referred to a woman having a “soul that is clear as glass”. I can’t think of another person who fits that bill. Keep writing.

Ray

This evening, hoping to summon autumn, I decide on a cup of tea.

The tiniest bit of sugar crystallized clumped now on the bottom, I notice the word “soul”.

I smile because I’m reminded my heart is known, the desires of them, by God.

Clearly, my soul the same.

Book of Redemption

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Redeemed, I woke up wondering and started my morning thing by writing it down…

redeemed

Underneath the date of today.

I’d picked the teal cup for my coffee, the one gifted me, unexpectedly.

I thought of the word, “redeem” and I went back to Bama’s, my grandma.

I saw her licking the stamps, sitting at the table rimmed in silver with yellow linoleum smooth surface, the place for our plates. I saw her filling up the books, the edges lined just right.

I thought I might ask to help, but always reconsidered, I watched her fill up her books.

Little paper books filled with them, S & H Green Stamps marked on the top with the word,

“Redeem”.

She shopped at the Piggly Wiggly and she redeemed the stamps she pasted into the books.

I never heard her say the word. She wouldn’t have, I don’t believe. She may have said “turn in my stamps” or “take my books to the S & H Green Stamp store”; but, I’m certain I never heard her say “redeemed”.

Yet, I woke up longing to grasp its meaning, “redemption”, in the way lately I’ve been focused on comprehending grace. I’ve felt it, celebrated it, been talking to myself about it…knowing truths like “were it not for grace and

grace, grace, grace”.

Unmerited favor. Yes, I know grace.

I almost give up on me at least three times a day. I get a little helpless and hopeless some days when I wonder why I’m still waiting for what I might not be quite sure I’m able to see come true. I get a little despondent over what not might come to be because of me not being me, bravely me.

So, I prayed this morning with last night’s truth on my mind, the stern hold on…don’t go there…I’d said to myself firm and redirecting…look how far you’ve made it, it would be so wrong to waste it, to not believe the uphill path is possibly not so scary high.

Oh, the books I could fill by now had I collected everything stamped “Redeemed”. You’d not believe the book filled with grace for falters and faults.

So, I’m rereading now, the pencilled in prayer wrote down quick and messy too early this morning:

I prayed.

Redeem my days, Lord Jesus, the ones inattentive or inconclusively sure of tomorrow, lost and aimlessly lulled into selfish and careless.

Those I squandered, let slip by, not including even the smallest consideration of your knowing me fully and lovingly waiting, loving.

And your knowing the entirety of my frame from way, so way back when, so clearly that you lined up my clumsy self

and you kept me from the deep ditches. You helped me find my way out of the others.

You saved me.

You brought me out.

You were with me.

Yes, I’ve been redeemed.

Redeemed, not wasted; surely

Redeemed, I will go

now and from now on,

Redeemed.

“Jesus stood up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She said, “No one, Lord.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.”

‭‭John‬ ‭8:10-11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and this truth: We are marked by God’s love not our mistakes.

Tell His Story

Careful with Words

bravery, courage, Trust, Vulnerability

Today, someone told me something I never expected to hear.

Nor could she know I’d been nagged by the same possibility, the same thought.

I’m sure she’d no idea I had abandoned one thing for another.

This first, it’s attainable, not scary.

I’d been detailing dissertation like understandings of truth and mostly they’d been falling on eyes and ears not receptive or just a handful of those who had treasured them.

And I do have a few, the ones who aren’t derailed by my truths.

They love my honesty, raw they say.

Avoidance, it seems; no,

it is.

Disengagement from the calling, the scary brave thing, sidelined and benched by my doubts and intentional delays.

Little hints of what I might say were I brave enough to write.

Everyday I think of it and I make sense of it, the story, its chronology, its flow.

The one I felt should be called “treasure”,

The Colors of my Bible…

Yet, I’ve not done what now two have suggested…give less time to the blog and write the manuscript…write without reservation.

Manuscript, not just blog or Instagram or Lord, help me…

Facebook.

Products, politics and pitiful stories, oh my goodness, Facebook, I love you, but won’t you please stop getting all promotional!

Here I am, now deciding to read the Proverb, 25 on the day, 25th.

Needing another reminder, an assurance of better day tomorrow.

And I’m certain. I’m convinced.

After reading the words on aged pages highlighted in pink.

No more avoiding the manuscript.

No more throwing my pearls to swine.

I’ll be more careful with my words, my words, mine to share.

Spaces We Get Stronger

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, praise, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I remember the time before.

I walked, hurriedly to the massive concrete place.

It was early morning, my face was taut from determination, my eyes were worn from the hours of awake, waiting, watching.

How could I be expected to find it, I realize now, many years later. It was a hard day.

I’m no longer that hard on myself.

I walked, already lost and entered every lane. I chose different levels. White, black, grey, red tail lights barely standing out in the black place filled with cars. Occasional glints of shiny color distracting my search, the sun coming up and in gradually.

I had a full meltdown.

The patient waiting without me at the corner of the hospital, the nurse maybe wondering what happened to her mama and my girl most likely sure her mama must be lost.

I lost my car. I stood with the truth of my disaster and accepted what I knew must be true. It’s not here, somehow, someone has taken it.

My daughter waiting, I believe realized I’d “lost it this time” and we’d not discuss it at all.

Same as there’d be no need or time to talk of “what if, what next, what now or why?”

A hospitalization after a procedure that was not a success and she, we go from exam table in pretty Dr.’s room to hospital bed to spend New Year’s Eve.

We were released and my mind, emotionally overloaded could not remember the space among hundreds of cars from two days before on the morning we got to go home.

The morning the sunrise came in through the openings in the hard place up high, I came to terms with what I might not be able to fix or find.

I found it eventually and made it down to load my girl in the car, her almost adult frame and baby face, understanding how I’d fallen apart and stayed away so long, struggling a real struggle in the parking garage while she waited in a wheelchair below.

She loved me anyway. Didn’t say so then but does everyday now.

So, this time I wasn’t gonna lose my mind and my car. Fatigued for a different reason, sleep deprived and uncertain of how I might be.

We were early, but had to park on the very top, the place that feels oddly special with open sky above, a slightly risky feeling.

I opened the door, grabbed my purse and prepared to walk with my boy into the place he’d be flying away for three months.

Stopped for a second, he slightly ahead on his way. I looked down at the marking on the space. “L” it said, okay I told myself, “L like Lisa, I’m good.”

Then, just to be certain, uncertain of my state upon coming back alone, I quickly got my phone from the pocket of my bag and I took a picture of the place I’d be coming back to.

Because, I remembered and I’m not at all embarrassed now over losing my car before.

The mama mind is naturally consumed sometimes and directionally challenged because of the strong and hard pull of the heart. Times when the baby bird is in need of healing to be better at flying and times when the bird is learning to fly.

Surely, mama bird might struggle in her return to the nest.

I’m certain she does.

Perhaps, they mark it with a bright stem or string, wanting to be confident of where they left off.

And I wonder now, if ever, just for the sake of mama memory, if the mama bird flies back to rest a bit in the place she let them go.

Maybe just for the sake of remembering how strong she made their wings.

The Far Away Chorus

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, heaven, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability

On Sunday, I stood among a display of images, faces, places, art.

I’d made my way over to an area made into what I saw as sanctuary.

No walls or doors to enter in, the space was open. I entered.

The images displayed in honor of the remembered lives massacred.

This morning I’ve slept with interruptions and I rise from my bed and then decide to begin with prayer. Knees tumble and land in a somewhat pensive posture.

Thank you for protection, I begin. I add in grace, mercy, and thank you for today.

My prayer, one of a rambler and a sleeping mind. Rote in my utterance, disorganized and uncommitted.

The void unfilled.

So, I tried hard to cease with the words, to let it happen, to believe my heart was heard.

I knew there was something I needed to know; needed, not wanted.  I’d disengaged, though,  closing the door to the place needing attention.

Closed off the place and hid the mess, distracting myself with other obligations.

Saying I’ll get back to it soon.

I will.

Why must I feel my prayer should be performance, I wonder sometimes?

Why must my cluttered mind overwhelm me in the clamor, a competition, the hearing of my thinking the thoughts

And of letting be, letting go, letting come to rest?

img_9588

Standing still instead, waiting to hear the hearing I’ve known.

On Tuesday, I went back to the place honoring those who died in a church at a Wednesday night prayer meeting.

The beauty of the faces hanging in frames. The bright vibrant color on those who walked the bridge in unity, hands raised up high on the high bridge over Charleston, South Carolina.

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The others lined up, symmetry along one wall, black and white, the photographs, the expressions on the faces.

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Together, standing amongst flowers strewn on the ground, eyes closed in prayer, hands  unbroken and tightly clutched.

img_9636

The slain pastor’s Bible encased in glass, opened to the parable of the mustard seed.

30 Again he said, “What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? 31 It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest of all seeds on earth. 32 Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds can perch in its shade.” Mark 4:30-32

Heaven was enlarged that night.

Surely it was.

Stained glass windows depicting Mother Emanuel Church and words, just a few lines, a humble display, a description of what happened that night.

On Sunday, I listened and my emotions felt close to erupting like volcanic overflow in the international airport. I came to the place I’d be letting go and the letting go I’d need to be prepared for in advance.

On Sunday, I stood alone in the place with strong words on the wall that said

“Charleston Strong”.

img_9590

My cousin was there; but, she let me be alone, apart.

I wasn’t very strong.  I was surely present.

I was present as I heard the soft sound of hymn barely coming through someplace, seemed above or perhaps the four corners holding together.

“It is well, it is well.”

Sunday was an opportunity to be aware, to feel the feels of goodbye, to not be blindsided by the things I did not know.

I’d never left a child at the airport.  Never boarded a plane or watched a son fly away.

On Tuesday, we returned, my son and I and he successfully and without me or complication navigated the steps towards leaving, of boarding for his flight.

He surprised me when he approached a woman, asked her to take our picture.

“Uhmmm, I’m gonna be studying abroad for three months, could you take a picture of my mom and me?”

We stood together beneath the Arrival-Departure display.

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I reached up and around trying to embrace him. His backpack stuffed fat for carry on, my arm got all awkward and tangled up and I smiled, leaned into his chest and let go my attempt to hold on.

My expression, a sigh. I notice now, the darkness under my eyes.

He turned and looked towards security and I looked the other way.

“Come and see this.” I said.

We were together there for a few minutes, entranced together by the display.

“Isn’t it amazing?” I asked.

He answered “Yeah.”

We both captured this time, this place, took photos of what touched us there.

Patience filled the separate place, we lingered and I listened again to what I found to be amazing, the sound the same as Sunday.

I entered the space with seeking heart,  curious over display, stood quietly and after a little while, just the same as on Sunday,  now on Tuesday.

I heard the chorus. The faraway melody, the hymn of assurance as soft as a lullaby and as certain as a vow.

“It is well, it is well

with my soul”

And now it’s Thursday.

I’ve heard good words from my son, excitement in the tone of his texts.

I’ve prayed for protection still and I’ve stumbled over my thoughts of his journey.

I’m remembering now, my decision to wait on Tuesday,  at the top of the parking deck, waiting for the departure. I heard the faraway sound of strong engine, I watched the plane appear and then become only a speck. The sky empty then, a flock of blackbirds gathered for me, I believe, to say “all is well”.

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I heard the seeping in of faraway chorus of grace again today, of

Waiting, of sanctuary and of song.

It is well with me.

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee at Tell His Story. Her words this week remind her of looking towards the heavens, of remembering where hope comes from.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/one-thing-well-never-outgrow/

Will and Whale

Art, bravery, courage, Faith, Motherhood, Prayer, Serving, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

It wasn’t God’s idea.

His intent was not for us to have the option to be stubborn.

Not his desire that we’d consider a different way other than His.

That we’d have to look back with regret on our fighting against and fleeing the path we stood before contemplating and then either ran towards another way, still miserable but at least not doing the thing we felt was undoable.

What’s your Nineveh?

The thing ahead of you waiting your contribution?

Or at least your willingness to be there with, reluctant acceptance of even?

Or have you fled, or at least on the cusp of running the other way? Hiding from what you’re afraid you can’t do?

“But Jonah rose to flee to Tarshish from the presence of the Lord.”

‭‭Jonah‬ ‭1:3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The Book of Jonah is spread across just two pages in my Bible, I read again today, adding to my illustration, a semblance of me alone on the other side.

The thing you keep asking why, maybe asking haven’t I done enough or I’m certain if I get close enough you’re gonna close the door anyway God…so,

I’m staying far far away.

I’m hiding from that challenge, I’m not able.

I’m not willing. I’m sorry for being so sorry, but no, I just can’t.

What’s your Nineveh?

Like Jonah, will you cause distress to everyone else in the boat you don’t belong in and get thrown into the turbulent seas of a decided rebellion, thinking it’s simply choice?

Or will you step closer, allow the path to let you in, trust God in his desire to grow you in this place you do not want to go?

I’m going there, going through it and I understand, I believe the reason.

He planted it there. I’ll find the purpose of my part in this path, when I choose to follow in a way without resistance.

The way of God’s persistent pursuit of me.

No Angel

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Serving, Teaching, Vulnerability

This morning, I am writing on the Five Minute Friday prompt of “support” and my mind goes the way of thinking of work, of funding we lost to support the homeless.

But, I don’t linger there, my mind goes to the place that keeps me humbled, keeps my heart aligned with work, a place where love comes in.

Here goes.

I get a random text from her. She wants to check on me, wants me to know she loves me.

I respond “I love you too, do you need anything and then backspace the question, tell her I am stopping by with food.”

Our system’s flawed on this one if you ask me. No benefits for one who can’t work because of mistakes made years ago.

So, we’ve been helping, we check on her.

A former resident of our shelter called “Nurture Home”.

I pulled in with bags of staples and milk and eggs. I noticed the window broken out in her back seat. My periphery takes in the neighbors and I am aware of loud music from the adjoining duplex.

I knock and she opens the heavy door.

She smiles. We hug long.

And I’m happy to see her home, the place we’re helping her with.

I notice the bedroom wall. I stare long at one framed photograph, left alone in her bedroom for a bit.

A photo of her cradling her son and smiling a heavenly smile.

I’m sad knowing her longing to know him now, the photo of them hanging above her bed, close.

She texted me later, called me “her angel”.

I replied, “I’m no angel. I assure you.”

This extra stuff beyond programmatic interventions some call “support” or “aftercare”.

She calls it love. I see it as grace and perspective.

A reminder of my periphery, my purpose, of the opportunity to notice His nearness.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭34:17-18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Getting Real

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

It’s a dim morning. Plans are being made and preparations began will be followed through.

My sister is breathing easy on the couch and I’m aware of the storm.

I sit, quietly.

I sometimes call them “epiphany” because I love the way it sounds.

To be in a quiet place and bit by bit by bit, it happens.

The change in way of seeing.

The slipping up on me of coming to a conclusion on my own.

Things wise or quick to correct people may have said, either as encouragement or a gentle chastise…

You must stop perceiving in this way.

This is not the way you should view life and its gift, its lessons, its living.

Somewhere today in my scanning devotion, Irma, weather and whatever I accepted a truth.

“Your value, Lisa… as you are now and as God sees in His plans for you are worth so much more than any past wrong doing or decision.”

The winds are causing trees to bend and the rain is sideways sheets.

I sit in the waiting room of a doctor who worked us in early, my son is wearing his college hoodie, caught the eye of the physician, an alum.

Small talk, talk only Citadel men understand.

I sit back. I’ve suggested what he say to the doctor who will be preparing him medically for international travel.

I remember my epiphany before the one most recent, God loves him greatly.

Unfathomable, but true.

God loves him more.

Jesus talked with his disciples, prepared them for their going on without him.

“All this I have told you so that you will not fall away.”

‭‭John‬ ‭16:1‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Stay strong, all will be well.

Recall what you’ve been told, what you know.

What you’ve seen me do for you and for you to believe by seeing.

And though they slept in the garden, he prayed, he prepared their way ahead.

There are new places my son’s feet will travel. There are new lessons to learn, new experiences to experience and encounters to encounter.

He will grow, I’ve prayed through the nights and more to come.

With God’s help, I’ve done my part.

Prepared his way.

#lethimfly

When I Listened

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, praise, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I found time to paint and with a chunk empty, I gave it to quiet distraction.

I took the apron from the nail on the wall and tied a loose bow around my waist.

Inundated with images of storms and ravaged places, I’d been hard on myself, “Is there something I could write, are there comforts I might provide here?”

But, I’ve nothing to add that might be worthy.

I’ve not weathered their storm.

For those who feel deeply, you’ll understand, how it was just so perplexing to me, to not connect with all the other “one anothers”.

I was systematic in my approach to canvas, tediously attentive to the grace I desired be displayed.

5 Angel Paintings, 5 hymns, one buyer of my art as Christmas gifts. I took my time, layering colors, blending over laid down with purpose lyrics.

And the girls, the slant of their shoulders, the sway of their gowns, the simplicity of their glances, I was resting with them, myself graced by the spreading of the paint and the perfecting of soft background.

Music playing, my Lauren Daigle station, all softness with a just a touch of James Taylor type folk.

It was a thoughtful time, my heart slowly responsive.

And then, a new song, and I decided quickly, oh…I know who needs this.

Listened to its telling the listener of her worth, of her value, her serenade…oh, realize you are loved.

Sat with this for a few, then sent it to a special someone.

Then, I second guessed my assumption of knowing her need and oh, my goodness why do I feel like it’s my job to lift the souls of everyone around me as if I of all people could possibly know the need of their own very soul?

But, the little bubble had the word “Delivered” underneath.

My head dropped to my lap and regret mixed with hope. Hope it’s taken as I meant.

Hope it’s okay.

Now, I’ll tell you what happened next if you promise you won’t think I’ve lost it, that I’m deeply and darkly sad or that I’m just way too deep.

Well, most likely you may already, oh well.

I’ll tell you because it was amazing.

I’ll tell you because I bet you’ve had extraordinary moments too, you just don’t share it with the world or a few curious and a few intrigued readers.

But, how might the world know? How might another soul find a similar song?

I listened again to the song, “Wonderfully Made” by Ellie Holcomb, mainly checking myself, and my like a “soul reader”, conclusion of her need of it’s word…and God’s

I sat with my 5 angel paintings awaiting deeper detail. My hands messy from blending and the desk a wreck of scattered tubes, brushes, pastels, pencils, pages of old hymns.

I’m messy. I am, I thought.

I listened.

It started soon and it started slow. My cheeks grew warm and then rivulets of tears fell, puddling just a second in the laugh line on either side of my lips and then slowly, slowly, easily, eventually sliding into the place I think is called clavicle.

Then, the song ended and I sat. No concern for being found in such a state or of my husband asking “What’s wrong?”

I would have said “Nothing.” and I would have meant it.

Simply taken by being taken to the place I needed to go, the place I needed to feel.

The song, well it’s beautiful in its message. I hope you listen. I hope it makes you cry.

I hope it causes you to know how beautifully, fearfully, wonderfully made you are despite your years, your days, your choices, your harms uninvited.

I hope you listen.

Wonderfully Made

I hope you cry when you believe the words to God’s song.

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭139:14‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Oh, and little word changed to “Read”‘and then a reply of gratitude for my reaching out.

 

Linking up with Quietly Through today.  http://quietlyreminded.com/2017/09/07/hold-fast-quietly-thursday-link-14/